


For the Sake of the Kingdom

by WritinRealSlow



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Violence, F/M, Fantasy, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinRealSlow/pseuds/WritinRealSlow
Summary: To kill for your king is the purpose of the Regiis Cultris. Personal feelings have no place on a mission, and after all, it is all for the sake of the kingdom.





	For the Sake of the Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a couple semesters ago for as a final project. It was fun, so I wanted to share it!

A cool wind snaked through the trees, rustling the leaves around Aike, though he barely noticed. His eyes were on the road below, narrowed and focused on the dimly flickering lights of the oncoming carriage. His target was a mere minute away, slowly ambling along the shadowed path of the border forest. The light of the waxing moon was useless here, held at bay by towering trees and a half-clouded sky.  
Aike traced the hilt of his dagger, taking note of the thinned hide grip. He’d need to replace it soon, or it could cause him to slip at a crucial moment. He let out a nervous chuckle at the thought, shaking it free from his head. His feelings on his job were complicated enough without adding in fear of failure on top of it all.  
Aike shrugged his shoulders, working his cloak back as the carriage drew near. His target was a visiting dignitary from the neighboring kingdom of Brunneis, a man whose starkly hostile negotiating had left the king in a sour mood. This left Aike with the job of removing the cause.  
Pushing the thoughts away, Aike reached into the folds of his cloak and retrieved his mask. Molded from shining porcelain, it was a simple thing, lacking distinctive features apart from two holes for his eyes, and a single black decoration around the left, with small, vine-like swirls seemingly growing from the dark of the opening, and a single thin line extending from the bottom, thickening an inch down into a tapered point, a bladed tear.  
Aike placed the mask over his face, and his hesitation dissipated. All in the world seemed to fade, all emotions, all distractions. All that was left was his mission. And his duty. The mask was the mark of the royal Regiis Cultris, the shadows of the royal family, working tirelessly to eliminate the threats the king could not dispatch in the open.  
“For the sake of the kingdom.” Aike intoned, stepping off the branch of the tree without hesitation, dropping down to the darkness below.  
He landed silently on the roof behind the coachman, bringing his dagger in a soundless, merciless arc even as he coiled his body to disperse the impact. The man never had a chance to make a sound as the flesh was struck from the base of his skull, tilting forward in a spray of blood to reveal the vertebrae of his neck. Aike kicked out, throwing the dying man from the carriage and to the forest floor, left to vanish in the darkness.  
Dropping into the newly vacant seat, Aike shook the reins, edging the horses into a gallop before yanking them to the side, driving the carriage from the path and towards the trees lining the path. The horses resisted, pulling back away in a desperate attempt to avoid crashing. They succeeded, but the carriage wasn’t as lucky, smashing into a massive oak in a calamitous thunder of splintering wood and screaming horses, the occupants crying out all the while.  
Aike however, was safe, having leapt from the carriage mere moments before impact, rolling along the ground before hopping back up to sprint back to the wreckage. The dignitary was still alive, as were his knights. The carriage wasn’t even destroyed, merely cracked and overturned with the remains of the wheels scattered around it. That was fine though, as Aike hadn’t intended for the crash to kill them, merely keep them from fighting back.  
Throwing open the carriage door, he wasted no time, slashing the throats of the two guards in two quick motions, showering the interior of the coach in twin sanguine fountains. Blood covered Aike’s cloak and mask, running down the oiled cloth in crimson trails. Shaking his hands once, he sent the droplets flying into the dignitary’s face, who whimpered pitifully as he was grasped and roughly pulled from the carriage and onto the forest floor.  
The dignitary cried weakly, frantically offering large sums of money for his life to be spared, and feeble threats when those failed. Aike took note of a large cut on the man’s balding crown, oozing fresh blood onto his bushy eyebrows and dripping into his trim mustache, mixing with the splatters of blood from the two men unfortunate enough to have been tasked with guarding him. His fine clothes were torn and soiled, and he scrabbled weakly at Aike’s hand, desperately struggling to free himself from the iron grip of his assassin. Feeling nothing, Aike lifted his dagger.  
“Wait… please!” The man coughed out, raising his hands in a vain attempt at self-defense.  
“For the sake of the kingdom.” Aike intoned impassively, and drove his dagger up beneath the man’s chin, striking through his jaw and into the skull.  
Viscera flowed down Aike’s hand, dripping onto the ground below him. He twisted the dagger in a quick motion, pulling it from the dignitary’s body and flicking the liquids from his blade. The man twitched once before slumping over, bereft of life.  
Aike sheathed his blade and set to work, removing all precious items from the bodies and carriage, quickly carrying them into the dark of the forest to hide in a hollowed-out tree with a dagger mark carved into it, to be retrieved at a later date at his king’s will. Hurrying back to the carriage, he checked over the area one last time before cutting the horses free and shooing them off into woods. They’d managed to avoid serious injuries in the crash, so he had no reason to kill them himself. And with his job now complete, Aike began to run down the road the carriage had come, to begin the night-long journey home.

The sun was only just beginning to wake the world as Aike slipped through the woods near Viren’s castle, quietly slipping between the trees to the hollowed-out tree trunk where he’d stashed his clothing, coin purse, and anything else that may have made more sound than necessary on his mission. He slid out of his dark clothing and, reaching into the trunk for the bag of his items, changed between the two sets, donning the clothes that served him in his normal life.  
Lastly, Aike removed the mask, staring down at it as he held it over the bag. He’d molded the mask himself, as all Regiis Cultris were instructed to do. It had taken many hours of painstaking work, and more than a few restarts before it could fit his face so perfectly as it did, a second skin to hide his first.  
Aike had modeled it after the puppets his father had carved for him in his childhood, silly wooden marionettes with porcelain faces he would use to put on plays for children. He felt it was a fitting trigger, transforming him from human to weapon, an arrow fired at the enemy of his king. He allowed himself a moment more of nostalgia before carefully placing the mask in the bag, wrapped in protective layers of cloth. It would be annoying to have to make another, so soon after his son accidentally broke the last.  
Aike quietly began to make his way into the town, nodding amicably to the guards at the gate, both too tired to be bothered to question a man they already knew. He quickly trotted down the street, hoping to get home and to bed before the town truly woke. He didn’t think he had the energy for pleasantries right now, or for navigating the bustling morning crowds.  
He managed, just barely, to slip into his house as the town began to move. Quietly he crept through to his bed, and he fought the desire to chuckle. When his father first began training him as a Regiis Cultris, he’d never have imagined he would use the lessons to avoid waking his loved ones. So well taught was he, that he was even able to slip into his bed without waking his wife, only pausing to lay a light kiss to her cheek before allowing sleep to take him.  
He slept deeply, long since accustomed to the dreams of blood and death that followed every mission. He’d learned long ago it was natural. The mask could only work its seemingly magic touch when he wore it after all, and no healthy human could do his work without feeling something as recompense.

“...up. Wake up.” Aike stirred as a soft voice drifted through the haze of dreams. It was the small slap to his cheek that really woke him though.  
Bolting upright in bed, he found himself facing the most beautiful woman in the world. Her eyes were the color of wheat in late fall, her slim, pink lips curled in a knowing smile that told everyone who saw it that she could see right through them. Her auburn hair, long and wavy, was pulled into a loose, low bun. A few stray bangs hung down around her head, and she carefully tucked one back behind her ear, blowing another to the side with a small puff. “Well well, looks like someone got in late last night. It’s time for lunch, sleepyhead.”  
Aike laughed and grabbed his wife by the waist, pulling her into bed with him. She let out a small shriek of delight, bouncing down on the bed with him. Ciaran pulled him into a warm kiss, stoking the side of his face. He love kissing her, even more when she held on so tight. She smelled of sunflowers and fresh bread.  
“I suppose that means breakfast is off the table?” He asked her between kisses. She snorted, lightly flicking his face.  
“Off the table and long since eaten, you silly moo. That’s what happens when you stay out all night on a job. I’ve never known you to need so much time.”  
Aike grinned in apology. The actual deaths hadn’t taken very long, it had been the travel time that kept him out so late. Of course, he expected Ciaran had known that, as she always seemed to know more than she let on.  
“I’m sorry love, next time I’ll be certain to be home before dawn. I wouldn’t want to miss you wrangling August out of bed again.”  
Ciaran rolled her eyes, pulling herself off the bed. “And I’m sure helping would be too much for the great protector of the kingdom. Now get up, you should eat.”  
Aike pouted dramatically, but rose to dress, nonetheless. He still had to report to the king, and he’d need to wash himself before he arrived at the castle. “A fight to the death is one thing.” He replied, following his wife to the kitchen. “But waking an eight-year-old is a battle for a braver man than I.”

Less than an hour later, Aike left to meet the king, with a bag over his shoulder, his painting easel under one arm and a belly full of Ciaran’s best cooking. Before he left, she’d handed him a small glass phial, instructing him to pass it along to Laurel, another Regiis Cultris. Ciaran was a well-known and liked apothecary, and her concoctions were often used to save lives, or in Aike’s line of work, end them.  
The castle guard stopped him as he approached the courtyard, a mere formality, practiced and familiar to both. He was well known around the castle as a favorite painter of the king, though a scarce few knew of his true profession. They waved him in and Aike pondered his alias as a painter. He often wondered if he could have made a life for himself with only his painting, and not the blood-soaked canvas he made of his victims’ lives. He pushed the thoughts away as he made his way to the garden. It was useless to ponder the what-ifs now.  
Aike set up his easel in the usual spot, near the gazebo. The royal family occasionally ate breakfast there, and it was the perfect place to meet the king. After all, what better place for to inspect the work of his “favorite painter”? Smiling, he began painting.  
He wanted to paint a nice scene, maybe a sunset over a lake. But as his brush moved and his mind wandered, the image transformed to something far different.  
“A horse-drawn carriage, eh? You assassins must not have much outside your work.”  
The unfamiliar voice snapped Aike from his trance, forcing him to take a good look at his painting for the first time since starting. While there was a sunset, it was closer to dusk, and the lake was replaced by a forest, with a silver and blue carriage pulled by two dark horses.  
“Death tends to stick with you. I’m sorry to paint such a morose scene, Your Majesty~…” He drew the word out as he turned, staring at the man before him, lying propped up on a pillow and peeling a banana. “You’re not the king.”  
The dark-haired man snorted, taking a bite of fruit. “Not yet. And you’re not very smart for a professional killer.” He studied the picture for a moment before taking another bite. “Not a good painter either.”  
Aike, forcing back a heavy sigh, dropped to one knee in a show of respect for the eldest prince of the kingdom. “Well met Prince Brennan. I meant no disrespect; I was just expecting to see the king.”  
“Oh, father dearest couldn’t make it today, he’s far too sick to get out of bed. As the next in line for the throne, it falls on me to deal with all the boring appointments he would normally take care of.” Brennan waved his hand dismissively. “But I suppose even a king has duties he has to fulfil. So tell me…” His eyes glinted with sudden interest. “How did your mission go?”  
Aike forced himself to take a deep breath before giving his report. He’d known the king had been sick as of late, but he hadn’t realized it had gotten quite so bad. At least, he hadn’t suspected it was bad enough that he’d be forced to report to Prince Brennan of all people. Of course, as a Regiis Cultris it was his duty to serve all members of the royal family, to work to make the kingdom a better place, by doing the things others could not. But still, his preferences fell to the Branwen, the younger of the brothers.  
Clenching his fist behind his back as he finished his report, Aike wondered if Brennan would make a good king. He hoped so, and he knew he had to have faith in His Majesty’s parenting. And yet…  
“So that stupid little man is dead then.” Brennan said, licking his fingers in thought. “Serves him right, trying to strongarm us during negotiations. When will those other countries realize that just because we say we want peace, it doesn’t mean we can’t slaughter them all? We’re so much bigger.” He rolled his head back, staring at the gazebo ceiling. “So you crashed his carriage and slit his throat eh? And you’re sure nobody will trace it back to us?”  
“No, my prince.” Aike replied, desperately wishing for the conversation to be over. “I took every valuable and cut their horses loose. It will appear to be a simple highwayman’s job to anyone who comes looking. The woods are a known banditry area, after all.” Aike paused, weighing the consequences of his next words. “And if I may, I believe war with Brunneis would only lead to further war with Niveus and Ostrum as well, given their alliance. We would only-”  
“Stop, stop.” Brennan replied, holding up a hand. “Your job is to kill people we don’t like, not bore me to death with your lectures. I hear enough dreary sermons from the scholars, I don’t need more from you.”  
Aike clenched his fist again, his nails painfully digging into his palm. “My apologies Prince.” He stood, bowing his head once more. “I’ll take my leave then. Give my best to the king, please.”  
“Hold on.”  
Aike turned, suspicious of the newfound excitement in the prince’s voice. The man was sitting up for the first time since he’d arrived.  
“Yes, my prince?”  
“I have a job for you. A job of the utmost importance.”  
Aike stood in silence, suddenly wary of the younger man. He’d never been ordered to kill by anyone other than the king before, though his duty didn’t preclude taking a mission from another member of the royal family. Still, he was apprehensive. “What would you have me do?” He asked, careful to smooth his voice of any emotion.  
Prince Brennan’s eyes glittered in the shade of the gazebo. “I want you,” he said, drawing an excited breath as he spoke. “To kill Sir Manus. I want The Silver Knight dead. Tonight.”

The alleyways of the Castletown were chilly and damp that night, the cobblestone still slick with the rain that had fallen that afternoon, puddles reflecting the moon above. The sun had gone down a mere hour before, and already the night had grown cold and unfriendly. The lamp-lighter had come and gone long before, but still the light of the glass-encased flames refused to stretch into the shadows in which Aike hid, drawing his cloak tighter around himself, hoping to stave off the cold.  
Aike frowned. He had no idea why Prince Brennan could possibly wish for the death of Sir Manus, and truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Sir Manus was well known for being a kind, honorable soul, a chivalrous knight who served his people as well as his king, unlike some who bore the title of knight. He could very well be considered a friend to Aike and his family, ever since Ciaran had brought him home for dinner one night, as thanks for playing with their son while she worked. Aike had killed many a man and woman in his time, and many of them could have truly been argued by most to have deserved it. But Manus truly didn’t, and Aike knew it would haunt him to his grave.  
It wasn’t his role to question, however. His role was a knife in the shadows, a simple tool to allow the royal family to eliminate threats they couldn’t remove publicly. And as the knight left the tavern and began walking down the street, his misgivings vanished with the placement of his mask.  
“For the sake of the kingdom.” He intoned.  
Slowly he followed his target through the streets, slipping between shadowed corners as he waited for them to reach a darker, more secluded area. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to fully avoid every puddle, and in the quiet of the night they seemed deafening to his sharpened senses.  
To his surprise, the mark suddenly turned into an alleyway, his relaxed gait suddenly quickening. Aike paused near the entrance. Something felt off, and he knew well enough that a careless assassin was a dead one.  
“Well?” Sir Manus shouted from around the corner. “Are you going to face me? Are you a coward who follows in the dark, or a man who faces his foe head on?”  
Aike froze. He was sure he’d been careful enough not to be seen or heard, but apparently not cautious enough, he’d been spotted. And now…  
“Get in here and face me, you craven fool!” Manus yelled again, angrier this time. “Either face me or run, but do not waste my time! I must prepare for tomorrow!”  
Aike weighed his options. He was an assassin, not a fighter, and trying to face a knight head on was practically begging death to take him. But if he didn’t, Sir Manus would escape, and he would be on guard all night, preventing any further opportunities to catch him off guard. And above all, the prince’s orders were clear: Kill him tonight.  
Aike stepped around the corner to face the ready knight, hand hovering over his blade. Sir Manus was an imposing man. Standing the better part of seven heads, he danced across the battlefield with catlike grace, clad in polished silver armor. He was well known for his prowess in combat, favoring a shield and longsword. At this moment however, he stood in that dingy alleyway in a simple, hardened leather Cuirass, equipped with a single short sword, hardly a foot longer than Aike’s own weapon. Nowhere near the threat he would have been otherwise.  
“So.” Sir Manus said, pointing his blade at Aike. “A masked stalker seeks my life the night before my happiest day.” He shook his head regretfully. “I should have known this would happen, but I allowed myself a night of idol jollity. Alas, it se-“  
Aike rushed forward, lashing out with the point of his dagger, only to find it pushed aside in a flash of sparks. His target was far more focused than he’d expected.  
“Cur!” The knight growled, swinging his sword back from his parry in a whistling, horizontal arc intended to liberate Aike’s head from the rest of him. He nearly succeeded too, Aike’s desperate drop to the ground being just fast enough to save his head, if not the tip of his hood. Aike kicked out at his mark’s knee to cripple, if not just stun the man, only for the knight to raise his leg, taking the brunt of the force on his shin with a grunt of pain.  
“You think I’ve never fought a coward before?!” He yelled, bringing his sword down, forcing Aike to twist around, barely deflecting the strike to the side with his dagger. The force of the stronger man’s blow shook his entire body, but he would not be deterred, slashing at the knight’s belly.  
“Foolish killer!” Sir Manus cried, hopping back to avoid the flashing blade. He hissed in pain, too slow to fully avoid it, taking an inch of steel through his abdomen. “I have faced better men than you on the battlefield, I will not fall here!”  
Aike pressed his advantage, rushing forward in another jab aimed for his quarry’s jugular. To his surprise, his foe didn’t dodge or parry. Instead he turned, hunching his shoulders as the blade sank into his upper arm, sliding cleanly though the large muscles. Roaring in fury, the man brought his hand down, upon Aike’s head, smashing his face with the hilt of the sword.  
Aike reeled back in pain, clutching at his face to find blood flowing down his now exposed chin. The knight had crushed his mask, driving shards of porcelain into his skin. Aike didn’t know what to do, this had never happened before. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he staggered back from Sir Manus.  
He was hurt.  
He was exposed.  
He had failed.  
Unsure of what else he could possibly do, Aike turned and ran, tossing the remains of his mask. He had failed his mission, and he may have even been seen. Fear was nearly all he felt as he rushed through the cold streets of the town, except for one part of him. A tiny, quiet part that was happy. Sir Manus would live, and the kingdom would be better off for it.

The guards never noticed Aike enter the castle grounds. They never noticed him sneak through the castle halls. Even the prince didn’t notice him, not until Aike spoke his name. He was frightened at first, but then he realized who had snuck in, and that fear changed to outrage.  
“How dare you enter my room in the middle of the night! I should have you killed! And put that dagger away!” Prince Brennan sat in bed, arms crossed over his bare chest. A blanket covered his lower half, and until Aike had come in, had covered most of the woman he had now sent away. A small part of Aike suspected she was a chambermaid, but it didn’t matter. He dropped to his knee, blood still dripping from his face.  
“I’m sorry my prince! But I-… I needed to…” Aike frowned, struggling to articulate his thoughts as he sheathed his blade. He hadn’t realized it was still out. “I failed, my prince. Sir Manus is alive.”  
Aike expected the prince to shout at him, to threaten him with execution, with exile, with anything. Instead, the man simply shrugged, stepping out of bed and walking to stand by the window.  
He was bare down there too.  
“Ah well. Guess I put too much faith in my father’s toys. I’ll have to get some better ones tomorrow.”  
“My prince?”  
“Of course, I had hoped to obtain Lady Sharin without a fuss, but I suppose I won’t need subtlety anymore.”  
Aike looked up in shock. Lady Sharin was the daughter of the king’s advisor, and widely considered among the most beautiful of women in the kingdom. But if Sir Manus was somehow an obstacle then…  
Realization dawned on him. “They’re getting married tomorrow.”  
The prince waved his hand. “Indeed, they are. Or, they want to. I’m afraid I’ll just have to have the interfering knight executed. She’ll have no excuse for turning me down then.”  
Aike shot up. “You can’t do that!” He could barely contain the urge to shake the man before him. “Sir Manus is a loyal knight! The people would never stand for it, let alone the other knights! And besides, no prince can possibly-!”  
“Silence!” Prince Brennan snapped, turning to glare at Aike. “My father is dead! It took him long enough; you’d think being poisoned every day by Lauren or whatever her name is would have gotten it done months ago!”  
Aike was in shock. He couldn’t respond, he could barely think. Prince Brennan seemed to take his silence as an invitation to continue.  
“Well it doesn’t matter! Tomorrow, I will be crowned king! And with a simple execution order on Sir Manus, Sharin will be my queen. And anybody who ‘won’t stand for it’ can join him on the chopping block.”  
Aike’s face ached, and the shards in his wounds burned like the sun. Without even realizing, he found his hand on his dagger.  
“The knights will have no choice either. In the end, their king is all that matters!” Brennan laughed, turning to look out the window. “After all, protecting me is… what’s that stupid little line you’re trained to recite? ‘For the sake of the kingdom?’”  
“Yes.” Aike replied simply, walking silently to the prince’s side, blade held almost delicately in ready hand. “For the sake of the kingdom.”


End file.
